


Still

by autopilots77



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-18
Updated: 2017-06-18
Packaged: 2018-11-15 17:04:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11235372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/autopilots77/pseuds/autopilots77
Summary: Betty finds him at 2am, sitting cross legged on the dock. In the silent dark, the only sign of his presence is the round glow of burning tobacco. She sits next to him and he says nothing, just takes another drag of his cigarette.





	Still

**Author's Note:**

> Literally couldn't come up with a summary for this. I wrote it a year or so ago with no particular characters in mind, but Betty and Jughead seem to fit. Just a short snapshot into their relationship in the future, at college or as adults.

Betty finds him at 2am, sitting cross legged on the dock. In the silent dark, the only sign of his presence is the round glow of burning tobacco. She sits next to him and he says nothing, just takes another drag of his cigarette.

“Since when did you start smoking again?”

A snort in response.

She hates when he gets like this. He crawls inward, his fingers turn to talons, and his teeth become razorblades.

She doesn’t say anything for a long while – so long that his cigarette burns away to nothing. A pack appears in his hands and she notices for the first time that they are trembling. She takes the pack from him and pulls out a cigarette. She picks up the lighter lying next to him, puts the stick in her mouth and lights it.

“What are you doing?” He snarls.

“Smoking.” She chokes out, trying and failing not to cough at the unpleasant burn.

“Stop.” He says, snatching the cigarette from her hands. “Go home.”

The river lazily drifts along as she watches him take a long drag from the cigarette.

“Please talk to me.” She says suddenly, before she can decide not to.

A groan escapes with the smoke from his mouth. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

“I got worried. Why are you out here?”

He doesn’t respond, and she’s not surprised.

She understands his silence. She has known him long enough to know his silence is just as important as his carefully chosen words. So, she sits with him quietly, watching the moonlight reflect off of the river.

Eventually, after he has burned through two more cigarettes (not including hers), he scoots a little closer to her. He shoves his hands inside the jacket that she knows has more hole than pocket and leans his head on her shoulder, beanie tickling her chin.

_I’m sorry._

She wraps her arm around him.

_It’s alright. I’m here._

They sit for some time longer, then he walks her back to her room. She gives him a small smile as she closes the door behind her.

*

She doesn’t see him until three weeks later when he knocks on her door at exactly 1:13am. She opens it and finds him near catatonic, eyes wide and glazed, reeking of vodka and cigarettes. He is shivering and there are slowly melting snowflakes in his beanie. She ushers him inside, wraps him in her spare blanket, and sits him down on the futon, then gets to work making a hot cup of tea.

He will talk eventually.

 


End file.
